Right now this keyboard is about 20 feet from my husband’s sleeping parents. 27 days ago we had 2,000 miles separating us. That’s a radical shift, no?

After the August miscarriage I felt a bit crushed by how little support we got from family even though we lived not too far from them. I do have to admit that part of the move (for me, not the Geek) was spiteful. I wanted to show that we didn’t need them, that we went through hellacious times without them, and we were damned well going to go through the best of times without them too. This was all an internal conflict that was never shared with my family, and not even really with the Geek. After a bit, okay, a lot, of reflection, this motivation began to fade and I began to cherish the experience of living in Cambridge for what it was–a chance to autonomously continue to develop my worldview.

We adore his parents. We really, really do. Because of this, we didn’t want to make any waves at all, so conversation about our living arrangements never came up. Something would happen and we would seethe without sharing our frustrations. We pretended nothing was wrong. His mother is one of the kindest, most generous women I know, almost to a fault. The Geek has a brother and sister who are both married with a baby. Both of them are startlingly dependent on their mom for basic things–she’ll make huge meals, then call them over. She watches one of her granddaughters every single day and provides lunch for her daughter and son-in-law every day. That’s a lot, and that’s just a small bit of what she does on a regular basis. Let’s just say that my sister-in-law has not once bought formula in the entire year her daughter has been alive. Or toys, or food, or clothes.

Her kitchen is a community kitchen in the loosest way. This can be a beautiful thing, and it is until conflict arises. I haven’t had the best of appetites lately, and it’s pretty miraculous when I can find food that sits well with me. The Geek and I bought limited amounts of food that we knew I’d be able to eat, and we stored it in the fridge and went along our day. Later, we found his sister munching on the food that we had just bought.

The fury!

We told his mom we were going to start labeling my food and she balked. She didn’t like the idea of creating any sort of division, so she said she would just buy all of our food from here on out. That worked until there was nothing palatable for me and we bought more food, yeast rolls this time. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I cried when I found out that my brother-in-law had eaten them for his dinner. He ate them crispy, no less! Doesn’t he know that they’re supposed to be baked only to a point of supreme gooeyness? Duh. I think something about pregnancy makes your taste buds feel a little more entitled to what they were expecting to eat.

The Geek told his mom that I was pretty upset. She’s been pregnant; she understood, and this time agreed to let us have a special section in the fridge. Problem solved, and without too much awkwardness.

I think I’ll skip the tension headaches next time. We’ve never been very good at telling them what we need. After the miscarriage I just assumed that support would be a given–I didn’t even consider that they would be more concerned about giving us the space they thought we might need to grieve. It wasn’t until the January miscarriage that we expressed how hurt we were by what we perceived as apathy. They were blown away that we had been harboring those resentments, and made it really clear that anything they did (or didn’t do) was done out of love and concern. It was a painful conversation, but it did give me a bit of closure.

Lost yeast rolls and miscarriages are obviously on opposite ends of the spectrum, but both have taught us that sometimes we just need to help our parents understand our needs. As much as we want them to know these things intuitively, they won’t, and it is unfair to expect them to.